EAT ME, DRINK ME
by InkedRose
Summary: After the disastrous epidemic overtook the entirety of planet Earth; Rosalie Sinclair and her three younger brothers find themselves caught in the group led by Rick Grimes. She had never imagined her life falling into a place such as this, but here she is - fighting for her life amongst a heaping pile of rising corpses.
1. Chapter One

_The television, which had been on, but in a mere static, begins to flicker. A frantic reporter appears on the screen, glancing around in paranoia before learning closer. My father, brothers and I sit, watching and listening in a nervous silence. "The disease is no longer an isolated incident," he whispers, but it is loud enough to be coherent, "As far as we knew, it started in Arlen and no one would be harmed – we would all have been perfectly fine. The infected was taking to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. He was escorted by the military… It was a foreign disease, yes, but they promised safety. They lied. We're not safe – no one is safe."_

_The man's voice is shaken and choppy in pitches. He pauses in his words, glancing around. This gives me a brief moment to silently address the havoc that is his newsroom. Papers have been thrown around, lights have been blown out save for two or three flickering ahead. The reporter has a wound on his neck – it almost looks like a bite. Soon he takes the camera, bringing it closer to his face. I can see that his nose is dripping._

_"We started getting calls," he mutters, looking away from the camera and to something across the room, "The incident was no longer isolated… It has shifted into an outbreak… People from cities like Atlanta, Marietta, Athens and Newnan. More and more people have gotten infected and the military… They've abandoned us – we're on our own."_

_After what sounds like a door is being broken open, the man looks down to the camera, "No one is safe. Barricade yourselves in your homes or they'll get you… They'll bite you and you'll be infected…" he pauses and looks over, quickly backing himself away from the camera, "Save yourselves!" he cries, "Save your souls!"_

_The camera falls from its place and causes the screen to return back to being pure static. I look to my father, but his face shows nothing but indifference. He rises from his chair and shoves through the four of us and goes into his back room. I can hear things being thrown around. _

_Ethan, my youngest brother, begins to fuss and cry. I bring him into my arms and place him on my hip. There is silence despite the sound of my father throwing things in the room across from the hall. Soon, he bursts out of the door while a rifle in hand and a packed bag in the other. "C'mon," he says, heading towards the back door, "We gotta get outta Georgia was fast possible."_

_Despite his words, we all hesitate. He turns back sharply, giving us a hard stare, "C'mon, you three! We ain't got time to waste, come along!"_

_We continue to hesitate. We would much rather take the advice of the reporter on the television._

_"Rosalie, get your damn brothers and bring him along. Don't make me drag y'all out by your hair."_

_With Ethan still on my hip, I usher Evan and Everett along. The outside world is in complete frenzy. I grasp Evan's hand and he grasps Everett's and we create a chain. I pull them through the crowd – trying to navigate as smoothly as possible. The world has become survival of the fittest despite us all being neighbors. No matter if you had known that person, if you had befriended that person – they no longer matter. If you live and they die, it's no loss to the world._

_I am shoving through people, throwing them back with the weight of my body. I have lost my father in the crowd, but I know I cannot lose my head – my brothers depend on me being levelheaded._

_I can feel fingers scratch against my ribcage. I look over to see a woman trying to grab Ethan. Behind her is an undead creature, ravenous for the blood and flesh of the living. She is trying to throw him for bait. My grasp around Ethan's frail body tightens and I jerk backwards. We tug back and forth before I stumble backwards and she stumbles as well, but directly into the creature's path. It grabs ahold of her arms and sinks its teeth into exposed neck. It rips back, the flesh hanging from his mouth._

_Her blood splatters on my face and Ethan's back. I was to stop and vomit, but strong hands grab onto my body and pull me into a truck. I turn quickly to see that it's my father. Evan and Everett are the next to slide into the truck – slamming the door as they slip inside. My father starts his truck and slams his foot down onto the gas pedal, causing the entire vehicle to lurch forward._

_Ethan desperately clings to me, his face drained of all color. It is obvious that he is terrified, glancing around in paranoia. I hold him near to me, rubbing his back gently, and then I look to my father, letting out a shaken breath. "Where are we going?" I ask._

_"Anywhere away from Georgia," he says, keeping his eyes directed towards the road, "You heard what was on the news. It ain't safe here anymore and we're gonna get out."_

_"A lot of cities in Georgia are infected," I tell him, glancing towards him in hopes that I have not angered him in any way, "Other states might be infected, too… What if we're not safe – no matter where we go?"_

_"Don't you talk like that, Lee," he says in a hardened tone, but keeps his eyes away from mine. I can tell that they're cold and angry._

_"It's something we should consider," I tell him, trying to make my voice sound as gentle as possible, "If we're not going to be safe no matter where we go; we should consider our options and try to think of a means of defense…"_

_"Goddammit, Rosalie," my father scorns, glancing away from the road to glare at me, "We're going to be perfectly fine. You know that I ain't gonna let anything happen to your brothers."_

_I began to feel my blood boiling, my teeth rattling and my hands balling into fists with the cloth of Ethan's shirt tucked into my palms. "I know you wouldn't let anything happen to the boys, Dad, but what about me? I'm you're daughter – what are you going to do for me? Are you going to leave me to fend on my own? You're not going to protect _me_?"_

_"I didn't say I wouldn't!" he shouts._

_"You didn't say you _would_, either!"_

_My father's head jerks in my direction and raises one of his fingers, opening his mouth to continue his rant, but the truck swerves on the street. His natural reaction is to grasp the wheel and slam onto the breaks, but that only ensures our havoc._

_The vehicle is swerving back and forth – it's out of control. Despite the desperate attempts made by my father – it remains out of control. I look out the driver's side window and see a cliff off to the side. My father having his foot pressed on the breaks while his wheel is turned in the opposite direction only causes all of us to go down the hill._

_The truck is rolling down the side of the mountain now. The sound from inside the frame of metal is piercing and ear shattering – deafening. My body is in flight for a few brief moments before I begin ricocheting from wall to wall in the compartment. I have Ethan practically strapped to my chest with my arms. I can feel his chest heaving with tears and screams of horror, but I cannot hear him. I am deafened by the sounds of shattering glass and denting metal._

_I am smashing back and forth, against bodies, against doors, against the dashboard, but I cannot accurately tell which I am colliding with each moment I am flung about. I close my eyes, though I could not make out any definite shapes anyhow, and I pray for this to be over – for all of this to be a sadistic nightmare, but it's all too real._

_I feel pain throbbing in my right side and it is all too _real_._

_There is a final blow before the surrounding world is still once more._

_There is silence – utter silence despite the shifting of a few rocks in the gravel. I slowly begin to open my eyes. Everything is a blur – a surreal blur. I blink several times before the glaze over my vision begins to spot away. The reality I wish I had been a nightmare – the ones you experience while you're asleep – is still a nightmare; only it was factual. It truly happened._

_I make a small attempt to shift my weight, but a pain radiating from my lower ribcage to the rest of my limbs stops me. I know it would be better to be still, but I realize that I am no longer in the truck. I was flung from the compartment at some point while descending the hill. The only thing on my mind is to figure out whether or not my brothers are safe and alive – Ethan especially. He's too young for this world to be growing so harsh._

_I stand up slowly and my legs buckle in protest, but I overlook their groans of pain. I look to my side instead, where I see a metal rod shoved through my skin and inside of my body. Against my judgmental to pull it out, I turn away and begin limping towards the truck – which is only a few hundred feet from me._

_"Ethan!" I call out, holding my hand below my wound, "Evan – Everett? Are you guys okay? Please answer me!"_

_I get no response._

_I kneel before the vehicle and take in a deep breath. I know that I will not be able to crawl through the window with this rod sticking out of my side. With that knowledge, I grasp the end of the pole and tug. It slides out of my side and drops to the ground. I remain still for a few moments in order to collect myself and before long; I am crawling through the window. _

_I see Evan hanging upside-down in his seat. The buckle had stopped him from slamming into the roof; which would have seemed like the floor to him. "Rosalie," he mutters, glancing around, "What happened?"_

_"Don't ask right now," I answer, leaning over to help remove him from his seat. "Grab Everett, okay? I need to get Ethan."_

_The eldest of my younger brothers nods and turns his back to me as he tries to unbuckle Everett from the seat. I glance around the seating area, but I see no sign of Ethan. I feel my heart jump from my stomach to my throat in a short matter of two and a half seconds. _

_"Ethan," I call to him, "Ethan, can you hear me?"_

_I hear a faint, but frightened call of my name from the back of the truck. I quickly crawl out through the window and scrape my knees and fingernails through the dirt in order to get to my baby brother. I can see him lying under the bed of the truck with his eyes closed, looking pale and weak. I grow frantic and push in the truck. I am thankful for my adrenaline when it begins to lift._

_I reach inside and pull my brother from the damaged vehicle and bring him close to me. "You poor baby," I mutter to him, running my hand through his hair, "You're shaking like a leaf."_

_"Rosalie," Evan says, standing with his arm around Everett's shoulders, "Where's Dad?" he asks._

_I glance around and see a hand sticking out from under the roof of the car and I grimace. I look to between the two of my brothers – the two old enough to understand – and I shake my head. Everett looks stricken, but Evan's expression remains blank._

_"Come on, you two," I tell them, "We have to find someplace safe to stay."_

_They come to my side and we all begin to walk, or rather limp, throughout the valley in which we had landed – looking for shelter._

* * *

><p>I jolt awake with sweat resting on my forehead. The dream – memory – I was having has caused me to shake. I look up to the ceiling of the Winnebago in which my brothers and I have found refuge. A kind, older man by the name of Dale Horvath welcomed us with open arms. I have never been so thankful for a stranger's hospitality in my life. It has been two to three months since the epidemic began. There has been so much death and decay. I often catch myself wondering if any of my friends still live, but my conscience knows otherwise. The likelihood of anyone I had once known still being alive today is far from the boundaries of hope.<p>

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and sit up slowly. I look to Ethan, who is curled up against my side on the Winnebago's bed. I run a gentle hand through his hair and allow him to sleep for a while longer. Evan and Everett have left the RV – presumably to start their morning chores. I stand from the bed and walk out of the vehicle, glancing around at the camp.

Many others have come since my brothers and I arrived. We have a relatively large group now – a group with couples and women and children. It's relieving to see that there are still some people living in this world. I still have to wonder who else is out there – who else besides the undead beings roams the streets across the planet. I hope we can find more people amongst the living rather than the monsters amongst the undead.

Dale spots me from across the camp and his eyes light up with happiness, but there is a hint of relief in them as well, "It's nice to see that you're awake. How did you sleep?"

"Fine," I answer in a curt tone, though I am not trying to sound rude or abrasive. I'm simply trying not to relive my nightmare – my memory, "How did you sleep?"

"Oh, I didn't." Dale replies, moving the shotgun that was resting on his right shoulder to his left, "It's hard to sleep these days, but I'll survive otherwise."

I nod in response and Dale takes my silence into account. He's studying me, then he frowns a little bit.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

I shake my head, "It wasn't a nightmare," I answer. "It was a memory – a nightmarish memory, but I'll get over it. There's nothing for you to worry about – I'll be perfectly fine."

He doesn't look convinced, but he nods anyways. He shifts the shotgun once more and walks into the camp, continuing with his daily duties.

I look off to the side, to the small reservoir near our campsite. Today is laundry day and the rest of the women are gathered down there, scrubbing the clothes as clean as they can possibly get them in the reservoir's water. I walk down there and sit down amongst them, sighing a little bit.

"Laundry day again," Amy, younger sister of Andrea Barr, says and sighs heavily, "It feels like everyday is laundry day."

"That's because everyday _is _laundry day in one way or another, honey," Miranda responds, giving Amy a sympathetic smile, "Somebody is always getting something dirty."

"They should stop," Amy says and sets the clothes down, shaking her head, "I know we're women, but this is chauvinistic."

"Do you even know what that word _means_?" Miranda laughs and Amy looks briefly embarrassed.

"No," she responds, "But I've heard Andrea mumbling the word about Ed Peletier, so I'm guessing it has something to do with women's rights and men belittling them."

"Something like that," the older and darker woman replies.

The mention of Ed's name causes his wife, Carol, an abundance of discomfort. It's not secret that he's abusive to her – there are far too many bruises to hide. We all want to say something about it, but none of us have the audacity to do so. Ed wouldn't hesitate on hurting someone besides his wife, that's definite.

"When was the last time you saw a man wash any articles of clothing?" Miranda Morales asks, looking between all of us, "Even before this happened, Eduard never washed his own clothes. It's not exactly an act of chauvinism, Amy. It's just the fact that women are more likely to wash clothes than men are."

"That doesn't excuse anything," the younger responds in huff. "I'd rather be cooking right now."

"When did that become _any _less chauvinistic?" Miranda ponders.

"It didn't." Carol says, having been washing the clothes in silence, "Men want women in the kitchen and you're just placing yourself in a hypothetical kitchen. You're still doing what they want you to do."

I continue listening to their ramblings about the male superiority and the lack of rights for women. Throughout their entire conversation, I think to myself about the fact that our "rights" no longer make a difference. The Declaration of Independence – the Bill of Rights – no longer has any effect on the way we live our lives. People are no longer higher nor lower, we are all the same. Everything is survival of the fittest now.

While sitting in my spot, thinking about the change we're facing in the world, the radio that has been sitting on the top of the Winnebago begins to buzz and squeal. I turn my back slowly, listening to the faint voice that comes out through the speakers.

"Hello?" the voice whispers, "Is anybody there? It's Andrea; I'm calling from Atlanta. Are you there?"


	2. Chapter Two

When Andrea's voice calls out from the other end of the radio, the ones who heard it begin scrambling towards the radio, desperate to let her know that we're here. Shane Walsh, previous officer of Georgia with the current occupation of being a complete dick, is the first one to the radio. He holds his fingers down on the microphone-like area and places the speaker in front of his mouth. "Hello, Andrea?" he asks, glancing around at us as we congregate. "Andrea, can you hear me? I repeat; can you hear me?"

There is no response from the other end. Amy, her sister, looks panicky and worried. She opens her mouth to make some sort of a plea, but Shane put his hand up – stopping her from speaking. "Andrea Barr, it's Shane Walsh. Can you hear me?"

The radio lets off static-like noises and another voice picks up – but it's not Andrea this time. "Shane? Hello? It's T-Dog."

Amy watches Shane's thumb and she soon as he presses down on the switch and sucks in a breath to speak, she begins wailing into the speaker. "T-Dog, it's Amy! Is Andrea okay? Please tell me Andrea is okay!"

Shane, with an acidic expression, snaps his fingers towards us – which is a means of telling us to pull Andrea back. His eyes, however, are looking at me specifically. He wants _me_ to pull Andrea back, but I remain still, with my arms crossed over my chest, staring at him. Our gazes are hard.

Miranda reaches forward and pulls Amy back, running her hand through the girl's hand in order to try and calm her down. "It's okay, sweetheart, I'm sure Andrea is fine. Don't interrupt Shane right now. Come with me."

The blonde gives the radio a hopeless look and turns into Miranda and begins to cry into her breast. Those of us who watch the scene feel a sensation of sympathy, but Shane's expression shows nothing more than fury.

"Shane," T-Dog's voice calls, "C'mon man, we need to know you guys are alive over there!"

"We're alive." Shane says into the radio, "How are you guys doing over there? Are y'all ready to come back yet?"

"Almost," the radio responds and there is a momentary silence. "We're still gathering supplies. It could take a little while longer. The Geeks have been lingering around the store."

Just as the officer begins to speak, there are sounds of several gunshots from the other end. Amy gives a horrified look to the radio when a woman lets out a scream. There is frantic hollering back and forth, following by more sounds of gunshots, but they don't seem to be coming from the same vicinity in which the rest of our group rests.

"T-Dog, you need to get out here, _now_!" an accented voice yells from the distance. Shane looks between all of us, seeming confused and worried.

"Was that Eduard?" Miranda asks, looking frightened.

"What's going on over there?" he demands, staring at the device. "Is something there? _What's going on_?"

"Someone's outside, shooting up the streets," Jacqui Sacks says after taking control of the radio, "The Walkers are starting to surround the building. Everyone here is perfectly okay; you're not hearing the shots from us. It's the fool outside."

"Are y'all going to be okay?" Shane asks, but there is no response.

"_Come on, you sorry sons-a-bitches_!" a heavy Southern accent cries out. "_Come and get me, you ugly fuckers_!"

Dale and I look to one another, speaking in unison, "Merle."

"Calm down, Dixon, you're not helping this situation!" Jacqui scolds, "We don't know how this situation is going to end, but as soon as we have some kind of an update – we'll radio you again. Please stay safe, all of you."

There is static from the other end again. Shane continues to beckon to our friends in Atlanta, but there is utter silence. Ethan comes running to me, whimpering and he clings to my leg. I lean down to pick him up and prop him on my hip. "What's the matter, handsome?" I ask, "Did you have a bad dream?"

The little boy shakes his head a few times.

"No?" I ask, brushing his brunette hair from his forehead, "What happening?"

"I w-was playing with Carl and Sophia and Mr. Peletier was l-listening to the radio and I asked the others if t-they thought everybody was going to be okay and… And Mr. Peletier said they were all going to die!" he wails, squirming around in my arms before hiding his face in the crook of my neck. An expression of anger washes over my face and I set Ethan down, kissing his forehead.

"Go with Evan, okay?" I tell him, smiling a little bit. "I'll figure everything out, I promise."

"Pinky it," Ethan pouts with his lower lip sticking out. He raises his and offers his smallest finger. "Pinky it, Rosie!"

I laugh a little bit and link my pinky with his, "I pinky it."

The little boy beams at me then gives me a nod of his head. He then runs to his eldest brother and jumps into his arms. I smile a little bit before recalling the anger radiating throughout my body. I look around the camp before finding Ed Peletier, sitting in a portable camping chair, smoking a cigarette. I make my way over to him and glares down at him with my hands on my hips. "Would you care to explain why you told Ethan that Andrea and the rest of the group are going to _die_? You can be an asshole to everyone else in the camp, I don't give a shit, but when it comes to my _brothers_, you'd be wise to keep your mouth shut."

"I told him just to shake him up," he replies with a shrug of his shoulders and he takes a drag from the cigarette between his fingers. "I'll do what I want, little lady. I'm a grown ass man, I don't take no orders from you."

"I _will not_ tolerate you tormenting my brothers. You may think you have the right to make _your _family's lives a living hell, but you _do not_ have the right to even _talk _to my family. Ed, the next time I even hear you _breathe _in their direction, I will take this knife," – and I grab the knife from my boot – "And I will slit your throat wide open. You sit here, on your fat ass, and you continue to smoke your cigarettes, but keep your mouth shut around my brothers. Do you understand me?"

The expression on Ed's face shifts from apathetic to slightly frightened. I damn well know that I'm not even _remotely_ scary, but when I have a knife in my hand as leverage, my message can actually be listened to.

"Yeah," Ed says, pushing my arm away from his face, "I understand perfectly clear, little lady. You can pull yourself from my face and walk that perky little ass away from me."

I grasp onto the knife harder, restraining myself from plunging it directly in his throat. Instead, I shove it back into its sheath and walk away. I walk enough to calm myself down. I take a seat on a tree stump and run a shaky hand through my hair. My body is not adjusted to expressing my anger. Before the epidemic, I sat in utter silence, no matter the situation. If someone insulted me – if someone angered me or even _hit _me, I would sit in complete silence. I would do nothing.

The world, however, has changed and I have changed with it. I am still reluctant to speak when angry, but I have made a point to defend my family and me when necessary. I am almost thankful for the epidemic for the reason that it was the one thing that pushed me forward – that caused me to become stronger.

My mind and my entire body freeze when a twig snaps in the distance. I slowly lift my head to peer through the trees, but I see no movement. I try to swallow, but my throat is dry and feels as though it's swollen. Another twig snaps and my heart plunges into my stomach. I feel fear numbing and paralyzing my limbs. I stand, beginning to walk towards the sound.

I take another step forward and Evan appears in front of me, causing me to react and jerk myself backwards, which results in me falling on my buttocks. I glare up at him. "You scared me half to death, Evan."

"Sorry," he says nonchalantly. He reaches down, grabs my hand and raises me to my feet. "We need to talk."

"About what?" I ask, brushing the dirt and leaves from my body.

"Us – our family," he says, crossing his arms over his chest, "Rosalie, Ethan is starting to believe that you're his mother."

"Is that wrong?" I ask him and I watch a flash in his eyes.

"Other than the fact that you're _not _his mother?" he asks, incredulous. "We had a mother, Rosalie. You're not going to let him completely overlook her just because she's dead."

"He never _knew _her, Evan," I say, narrowing my eyes slowly. "It's interesting how Mom's death is absolutely forbidden to be overlooked, but we can all sit and pretend as though Dad never existed."

"Dad is a different story and you _know _that."

"I would be happy to let Ethan know that Mom had once been alive," I say, shaking my head, "But the fact is that he never knew her. She died during childbirth, Evan. That's not something I can tell him and you know that you couldn't either. This situation would be different if he has ever been aware of her, but he hasn't. I'm not going to tell him and confuse him."

"You think he's not confused now? In his eyes, his father practically disappeared two months ago. Would that not confuse you?"

"Of course it would, but he'll forget soon enough. It's not a crime to hide grim details from him."

"I'm not going to let you pretend to be Mama Bear," Evan says simply, shrugging his shoulders. "I'll tell him about Mom if I have to. He deserves to know that she was alive and that she _loved_ him."

"No one is denying that!" I shout, feeling myself becoming irritated all over again. "You're not going to tell him anything, Evan, and I mean it! You're just going to confused him! I'm the one with the duty of protecting his family. _I _am – not you. Have you forgotten that?"

"How could I forget? You make it a point to tell me whenever you possibly can," he says and begins to walk away before pausing and turning back towards me, "For the record, I'm beginning to question your _duties_. You're not looking out for us, you're looking out for yourself."

"That's _not _true!"

"Face it," he says. "You're a selfish bitch."

Without thinking, I swing my arm and I smack him across the face. Despite the guilt that immediately begins to well in the pit of my stomach, I stare at him and press my lips together for a brief moment. "Do not speak to me like that. Ever again, Evan."

My brother wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth and gives me a dark smile. "Yes, Mom," he says and walks away from me, heading back towards the camp.

I stare at his back before looking away and I take a deep breath. I nestle my arms into one another and sniffles a little bit. I feel guilty that I smacked my brother, but I feel insulted by his words. I have a better sense than to return to the camp because, if I were to, Evan would simply get angry and divulge my mistake to as many people as humanly possible. Then I would be an outcast.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see Dale giving me a concerned look. "What's wrong, Rosalie?"

"I did something foolish," I tell him and I look down at the ground for a long moment, "I smacked Evan. I didn't mean to, but he made me _so _angry and I just reacted. I didn't think about what I was doing. When I began to, it was already too late."

Dale pulls me to sit down as he listens and he nods a few times, frowning a little bit, "We all make mistakes."

"Not like this," I disagree, looking to him. "This isn't a simple mistake that can be fixed in the blink of an eye, Dale. This is different. I _hit _him and he's _never _going to forgive me," I say and look down to my hands for a moment, sniffling. "I wouldn't blame him, either. It was unlike me. I feel horrible."

"Of course you do," he replies, patting my back a little bit. "He's your younger brother and you love him. Naturally you're going to feel guilty when something like this happens, but that doesn't mean he's never going to forgive you. In time, he _will _forgive you. For now, he may just need some space."

"I don't want to give him space," I say, rubbing my forehead out of a brief moment of frustration. "I want to go to him and apologize for what I did, but I also want him to apologize to _me _for insulting me the way he did."

"What did he say?"

"He's angry at me because Ethan is starting to believe that I'm his mother. He'd rather me tell him about our dead mother. He doesn't know her and he never knew her. How can I do that to him? It'll just be confusing and I'll feel horrible if I do that," I tell him, shaking my head for a few moments. "Why is it so wrong for him to believe I'm his mother?"

"Perhaps he feels resentful over this because of the fact that your mother has passed on. Given that it's been six years, but that doesn't always make the pain any easier. Especially these days, he may really be missing her."

"I didn't think of that," I mutter.

"Not everybody does," he says and smiles at me.

I look to him, giving a tiny smile in return. "Thank you, Dale."

He nods and I stand from the stump I had been sitting on. I begin to make my way back to camp when I hear a rustling in the woods. I pause, glancing around and hear giggling. I squint my eyes to peer through the trees. I see Shane and Lori Grimes on the ground, Shane hovering over her with a smirk on his face. They begin to peel their articles of clothing back. I turn and jog away from the scene, rubbing my head.

If I were anymore audacious than I am now, I would have said something to them. It was only just before this epidemic started that Lori's husband had been admitted into the hospital and had died. I was never a personal fan of Lori, but now I find that my own morals are causing me to dislike her even further.

I hear Ethan crying my name. I feel a sense of panic in my heart and begin running towards his voice. I spot him in the quarry, near the small body of water that rests inside of it. Without a moment of hesitation, I jump down the ledge. I slide down in the jump and rocks and I can feel the various stones cutting at my palms and legs. When I reach the bottom, I run for the boy and kneel before him. I frantically look him over for cuts, bruises, bites, and scratches – anything.

"What is it?" I ask, my voice sounding worrisome and anxious, "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I'm not hurt!" Ethan halfway shouts in his prepubescent, high-pitched tone. "Look, Rosie, look what I found!"

He proceeds to hold his hands out in front of me. There is a small frog nestled in them with its eyes closed. It's peculiar, really, that it wouldn't try and escape from his palms immediately. The frog remains there, looking comfortable with my six-year-old brother as its captor.

"A _frog_?" I ask, staring up at him, "You made me run over here to show me that you caught a _frog_?"

"Yeah…" Ethan says, staring at me for a long moment. "I'm sorry, Rosie, did I scare you?"

"You terrified me," I say.

"I'm sorry," he says and frowns a little bit, then smiles widely, showing me the creature inside of his hands again. "But look, I caught a frog!"

I shake my head, giving him a small smile. "I see that. What are you going to name it?"

"Not _it_, Rosie! _He's _a _boy_!" Ethan tells me, using his index finger to stroke the frog's spine. "His name is Stanley and he's going to be my best friend."

"Well, you'd better get Stanley a home with some grass, dirt and a little pit of water, huh?"

"I didn't even think of that!" he says and his face lights up with pure happiness. He jogs off with Stanley cupped carefully in his hands and goes to find a makeshift terrarium for his new best friend.

I hear my name being called again. I grumble in frustration. "What do you people want today?" I ask myself, heading back to the camp. I see Shane standing by the Winnebago with his hands on his hips. I raise my eyebrow at me. "Can I help you?"

"Did you see?" he asks, voice hushed, but the muscles around his jaw are tightened.

"See _what_?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Rosalie. If you saw what happened, then you know damn well what I'm talking about."

I blink at him several times, acting as though I'm completely clueless. Which of course, I am not. "Shane, I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."

The former police officer shakes his head at me, turns and walks away. I watch after him for a moment before the right corner of my mouth perks up. "Oh, Shane?" I call, taking a few steps forward. "You might want to be careful about who you meet with in the forests. I know you don't kiss and tell, but if you kiss, I tell."


	3. Chapter Three

As the nighttime rolls in, a dark, star-kissed sky blankets the camp. My previous altercation with Evan has not yet calmed. In fact, it has been quite a time since I last saw him. While sitting, congregated around the fire with the others, I glance into the darkness; to each of the faces while trying to decide whether my brother is amongst the group. The fact is that he is not amongst us. I feel knotting in my stomach and a sense of panic causing my muscles to contract. Without judging my actions, I am already standing.

"Rosalie, where are you going?" Dale asks, giving me an expression of concern.

"Evan hasn't come back since…"

Dale cuts me off when I nearly say too much. "— I'm sure he's around here. Perhaps he's in the Winnebago?"

I glance to the bulky vehicle and nearly run to it. I walk inside, but my brother does not appear to be there. In my desperate search, the interior of the recreational vehicle is thrown askew. The camp must have heard me throwing objects around because Dale soon walks in and takes ahold on my arms. "Calm down," he says, "We're going to find him."

"I'm not going to sleep until I do – I refuse."

"You're no good to yourself when you're panicking," Dale tells me, watching me grab a gun from the counter. "Do you even know how to use that thing?"

I hesitate, "No."

"You can't go running into the forest on your own. Yes, you may have protection, but you don't even know how to _use _it. We'll send a search party out in the morning."

"You know how well that will go over with Shane," I bitterly remind him.

"Shane will just have to pull on his big boy boxers and deal with it. The rest of the group isn't going to let one of their members be lost in a situation like this."

"They might," I state simply. "This isn't _just _a situation – this is the world now and it's survival of the fittest. Why would they care if Evan were lost? Why would they care if Evan were dead? The answer is simple, Dale – they _wouldn't_. He's just another person; lost in the ocean of decay."

"Were you a poet before all of this?" he asks me, a small smile stretched across his lips.

I look to him, silent for three long seconds. "I was nobody."

Before the older man is able to speak another word, I tuck the gun into the front of pants with my shirt behind it. '_Always keep your clothing behind the gun,_' I tell myself – which is what Daryl Dixon taught me to do – '_You don't want to be fumbling with your shirt when a Walker is coming at you_.'

I step out of the Winnebago, take a slow breath inwards to keep myself composed, and begin walking into the forest. This action _does not_ go unnoticed by the rest of the group. The first person walking at my heels is Shane. "Where do you think you're going? It's the middle of the damn night. Don't think you're running off, chasing after God knows what."

Given it were any other night, I would turn on him, spat in his face and tell him directly where he could shove his words. Instead, I continue to walk, but I answer. "I'm chasing my _brother_. You may as well and sit your happy ass back down because I'm not turning back. I'm _not _going to let you control me anymore. Do you understand that?"

"Who the hell do you think you are giving me orders?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"This group needs a leader – an adviser and you know that. You're not above the law – nobody is."

"You're not the law anymore, Shane," I tell him, holding onto the handle of a knife, "Just because you put a circle of twigs on your head and proclaimed yourself the Grand Poobah doesn't mean I'm under your jurisdiction. I am a freethinking individual and I'll damned if I let _another _asshole dictate my life."

I can hear the former officer stop in his tracks behind me. "If you want to go running into the damn woods by yourself, then go ahead! Don't bother coming back if you're going to do that!"

"Fine," I say in a placid tone.

"Shane, don't be irrational," says Lori's annoyingly calm voice, "She's scared and she wants to find her brother – I think we can respect that."

"She's being a damn fool."

"She would be a damn fool to leave her brother behind."

Despite the animosity I feel for Lori Grimes, I'm thankful for the defense she's giving me. Most others wouldn't be so audacious as to say anything against Shane Walsh, but then again, she's not just _anybody _to him.

I continue to walk until the conversation between Shane and Lori has faded from my hearing range. I peer through the darkness and trees – it's hard to make out objects with the sky such a shade of indigo. I continue to press on, however, gripping the handle of the knife until my knuckles are the white. The silence in the forest is eerie and unsettling. There are little to no noises amongst the trees. Hell, the whole world has gone silent.

I walk and walk and _walk_. There is no measure of how much time passes – not these days. However, when the sun begins to rise in the east, I figure it has been a great deal of time. I'm thankful, however, for the sunlight brightening my view of the forest. There still seems to be no apparent signs of Evan passing through here.

'_How far into the forest am I?_' I wonder silently, '_Have I missed possible clues because I left in the middle of the night?_'

This is going to be far harder than I thought it would be. It's no secret that I possess no tracking abilities. I'm searching for a body without clues to follow. Why couldn't I have been raised in some sort of survivalist camp?

I stop in my tracks when I hear shuffling in the forest. My body, save for my heart, freezes in time. Instead, my heart begins to pound erratically. "Please don't be a Walker," I mutter to myself, "_Please _don't be a Walker."

"Rosalie?" an accented voice calls from a short distance. I turn and see Daryl, crossbow in hand, giving me a strange look. "Hell are you doin' in the forest all by yourself? It ain't safe out here, don't'cha know?"

"Of course," I answer, slowly tucking my knife into my boot. "Evan and I got into an argument, which quickly escalated, and he ran off because of me. I waited all day and the start of the night, but he didn't come back. I had to come out here and look for him."

"He's probably back there now." Daryl suggests – clearly wanting me to leave so I don't interrupt his hunting. "You should go on and check."

"I'm not going back," I tell him, shrugging. "I know he's not there. Someone would have come looking for me by now and no one has found me. Except you, but you weren't looking to."

"You don't need to be out here. He's probably fine."

"I'm _not _leaving."

Daryl rolls his eyes at me and rests the crossbow on his shoulder. "Fine," he says, "Stay in here, but keep away from me, ya hear? I don't need you scarin' all the game."

"Fine," I agree. "I'll stay out of your way."

We hold each other's gaze for a moment before he, once again, rolls his eyes and walks past me. I feel a small sense of hopelessness. I am no longer sure if I'm going to find my younger brother. This causes another familiar sense of panic.

I haven't moved since Daryl shoved past me, but I can still sense his presence near me. I don't look over my shoulder to see if he remains there, however.

"Come on," he says in a vaguely annoyed tone of voice. "We'll look for him together, but if you scare my game off, I'll shoot ya in the ass with an arrow."

"Fair enough," I agree and turn to walk over to him. We begin scouring the woods together. Daryl's search is far more successful than mine. At this point, he has collected eight squirrels.

* * *

><p>"Why the hell did he run off, anyway?" he asks with a shake of his head.<p>

"I smacked him," I respond. There is heavy guilt lying between my words. "We were arguing, he called me a 'selfish bitch' and I smacked him. That's all there is to it."

"You feel bad, don't'cha?"

"Of course I do."

"Then it's all water under the bridge, right? He'll get over it and you'll get over it. After that, you're both gonna be just fine. I'm sure he knows he was bein' a douchebag."

"Maybe."

"Nah, it's gonna be fine. Don't think about it too much."

"It was a mistake," I say, "I just hope he knows that."

"I bet he does. You're the only one worryin' about it so much. Y'all are gonna find each other again and you're gonna be apologizin' and he's just gonna tell ya to shut your trap. Hell, I might, too."

"You get under everyone's skin, did you know that?"

"'Course I do."

I roll my eyes at him and go silent. My hand colliding with Evan's cheek continues to run through my mind. It seems as though I'm engulfed in this horrible movie. I'm brought back to reality when Daryl nudges me with his shoulder. "Where'd ya go just now?"

"Back," I reply.

"Stop doin' that," he halfway orders and then sets his crossbow down, standing before me. "It was a mistake and you know that, Evan knows that, too. It don't matter how angry he is or was. If you know, he knows. All you did was give him a smack for bein' a brat, that ain't a crime. Anytime I used to do something to irritate Merle, he'd punch me square in the jaw and he _meant _to. I don't think you really wanted to hit your brother. You ain't a violent person."

"I didn't want to hit him," I agree, looking down in shame. "I hardly even thought about it. It was instinctive, but at the same time it wasn't. The point is that I didn't _intend _to smack him. I simply acted."

"We're all guilty of that. Don't chew yourself up because of it."

"Easier said than done."

"— But possible."

I give him a tiny smile. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Daryl says and glances my way when I chuckle a little bit. "I mean it, don't mention it. Merle would beat my ass into the ground for tellin' you anythin' about his life."

"I'd defend you."

"Well, forgive me for sayin' that I'd get my ass beaten into the ground, anyways. You don't got much meat on your bones to be fightin' a tough son-of-a-bitch like Merle."

"He talks a big game," I say. "Besides, fights aren't about strength; they're about speed."

"Speed?"

"The faster you punch, the more damage can be done to your opponent without draining too much of your energy. If you pack all of your strength and energy into one punch, you'll wear yourself out far too quickly. Speed outweighs strength."

"How do you even know that?" he asks. "Were you a fighter for the 'UFC' before or somethin'?"

I laugh. "No, of course not. My father taught me. Even now, it's one of the only beneficial things he ever said to me. He was big on fighting. Before my mother, he was a respected fighter for the 'MMA.'"

"Well, damn." Daryl mutters; sounding amazed. "You might have a good amount of fightin' spirit in you, after all."

"It's doubtful," I laugh. "The gene was more than likely passed to my brothers. I am a girl, you know."

"Don't be sexist towards yourself!" he shouts. "That ain't how that's supposed to work!"

"You didn't strike me as a feminist."

Daryl scoffs, "I ain't no feminist, but I ain't sexist, neither. Anybody can do any damn thing they want. All they gotta do is try and be determined enough to accomplish it. You could be a real good fighter if you tried. You already know the most important secret there is to know, right?"

"I suppose that's true, but I don't know where to start. I don't know if I could teach myself to fight and there isn't anybody who'd be willing to teach me."

"I'd be willin' to teach ya," he says, looking over to me. "Wouldn't be no trouble."

"I would appreciate that," I say, giving him a small smile.

"We'll start classes soon, then."

I nod and grin a little bit to myself. '_I'm finally going to learn how to defend myself_.'

We continue to trudge through the forest. We leave, figuratively speaking, no stone unturned on the search for game and my brother. There are little results, but we continue to look, anyway. Seconds drag into minutes and minutes drag into hours. My legs begin to feel numb and heavy. I have to force the motivation on myself to keep walking. Daryl begins to notice my lethargy.

"You need a break?" he asks.

"No," I exhale, "I'll be fine."

"Don't lie to me," he says, setting his crossbow down. "You can lie to anybody else, but don't lie to me. I see right through it."

"Are you an empath or something?"

"Hell no," Daryl says, laughing for a moment. "Just ain't stupid."

"If you continue to talk like that, people might think otherwise," I tease.

"Shut up," he shakes his head and kneels down before me. "Hop on."

"… Hop on what?"

"My back, duh."

"Why?"

"You're gettin' tired, right? So hop on. You ain't – you aren't going to hurt me. C'mon."

I hesitate for a long moment, judging whether or not I'll be too heavy for him to carry. Against my _better _judgment, I climb onto his back, anyway. I worriedly grip onto his shirt as he begins to stand back up, crossbow in hand once again. His arms are wrapped around my knees. I feel the muscles in his back shifting.

"You're heavier than you look, but you ain't too heavy," he tells me.

"Uh," I stammer, "Thanks."

"Oh hell, I didn't mean nothin' by it."

"I know, I know."

Daryl continues to walk with me resting on his back, using his crossbow to shoot a few more squirrels that come across ours path. I squirm each times he leans down to grab the carcasses. It feels as though I'm going to fall from his body. I do not fall, however. Each time it feels as though I'm slipping from his back, he catches me and slides me up his body again. The feeling of his muscles against my chest and stomach causes me to shiver. It's a strange feeling.

The longer we search for Evan, the more hopeless I feel. The woods are lovely, dark and deep but there are just too many damn trees to fish through in order to find one human being. A group, perhaps, but _one _person makes this infinitely harder. Each time there is any flash of movement caught by my peripheral vision; whether it be a squirrel, a leaf or a Walker – I look over, excited to finally see him again, but to my disappointment – it's never him.

"Hang in there," Daryl says soothingly to me. "We're gonna find him and he's gonna be just fine and you're gonna hit him again for runnin' off like that. Ain't that right?"

I laugh for a brief moment. "I won't hit him."

"I would," he says, shrugging his shoulders, which causes me to move further up his back. "If someone scared me half to death, I'd given 'em a beatin' just to let 'em know that they should never do somethin' like that."

"I'm sure he's fine," I say half-heartedly. "It's my own fault he ran off. He shouldn't have to be the one to apologize."

"I don't think you gotta apologize, neither."

"No, I do."

"For gettin' angry because he said something to purposely sound like a dick? I don't think that's somethin' you need to be apologizin' for. Not under any kind of circumstances."

"The anger is too much for him," I explain quietly. "We've lived our lives in a constant sea of anger – not necessarily anger from ourselves, but from our father. Our lives were made up of broken alcohol bottles and disgustingly profane words. They were thrown at us, they were thrown at our mother and they were thrown at anybody who'd be fool enough to listen. The violence, the moments of rage – they remind him of home. It's too much for him to bear. It's too much for all of us to bear."

Daryl Dixon makes a brief grunt of curiosity. He continues to hold me on his back as he scours the woods, however he's silent for a few moments. "I know how that feels," he says. "My Pop wasn't a great guy, neither. He was always beatin' on Merle and me. It's like not like we never deserved it or nothin', because sometimes we did, but other times… It was for his sick pleasure. Sometimes all you had to do was look at him sideways for him to raise his belt to ya."

"Your father and my father should get together sometime and go bowling," I laugh. I'm relieved when Daryl laughs too.

"You would never catch my Pops bowlin'."

I smile to myself, looking down at the ground and it fades. "You would never catch my father bowling, either."

"Have you ever gone bowlin'?"

"Once."

"Did he take you?"

"Yes."

"Well," Daryl begins, "Then someone caught him bowlin' at some point."

"That's true," I smile again.

There are a few moments of silence.

"If you know enough about your family to say somethin' reminds 'em of home, then I'm sure Evan knows, too," Daryl says slowly.

I hesitate before asking, "What do you mean?"

"You know he was just thinkin' of home when you smacked him, right? If you know, then he knows. I'm sure he's sittin' in a tree somewhere – regrettin' running off and scaring you half to death. You said the anger is too much for him, so maybe he just walked until he cooled off and then ended up halfway through the woods."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"Kind of," he laughs. "All I'm sayin' is that you both know when you're scared of goin' back to that place. Don't give up just yet."

I sigh, leaning my chin on his shoulder and stare ahead for a long while, thinking of any place that Evan could be hiding. "It's hard," I whisper, but I know he can hear me due to the fact that my mouth is directly next to his ear. "Before all of this, we had to live a life in anger. We had to live in cowardice, and now, we've been freed from our angry and bitter father, but to what world did we lose him? To one in which we still have to live in cowardice, but also in terror? If I could choose which life to lead, I'd turn back to my father. And I have to wonder who else would choose that life with me."

"Now you got all my gears twistin'," he says in an attempt to cheer me up, and I smile – only slightly. It's enough for him. It's enough for me.


	4. Chapter Four

Hours pass, but how many hours? Of all things I wish I had kept track of before the end of the world; it's _time_. The sunlight begins to fade behind the trees and pieces of land before there is nothing but darkness surrounding us. Daryl had set me down at least three hours ago. I told him I didn't want to break him in half, and though he insisted he was fine, I could see that he was getting tired.

Now we sit across from each other, with a small fire burning in front of us. Despite living in Georgia, the air inside of the forest is chilling. Everett once told me that it was because the trees shade much sunlight from getting inside. Everett loved science.

I watch as the man across from me uses his pocketknife to skin four squirrels. There is a long process of him skinning them, cleaning them, ripping the meat from their bones and cooking them over the fire in an old pan. The smell of the cooking meat causes my famished stomach to groan.

Daryl looks over when it calls for food, raising an eyebrow at me, and he chuckles. "You're hungry, then?"

"Starved," I say.

"Unfortunately, the end of the world didn't offer much food for us. It just packed up its shit and left, huh?"

"More or less."

"You ever wonder if the world is just gonna go back to normal?" Daryl asks as he cleans off a couple of makeshift plates for the meat.

"Sometimes," I answer and look up to him, "But I don't have the answer. I have no way to know whether or not this world could return back to its normal way of life. I wish I did have the answer."

"I don't have the answer, either, but I still find myself wonderin'. I just have to think about the possibility of the world returning to how it was before. If it does, what are we going to do from there? Resume as usual?"

"We'll work on restoring the everything – the cities," I answer.

"We will or would?"

I hesitate for a moment, "Will."

"I hope that's right," he says, handing a plate of meat to me.

"Me too," I say and lose the ability to speak all other words when I inhale the delicious smell from the meat. I feel my stomach lurching forward, smacking its jaws at the plate in a desperate attempt to get it into my mouth. I pick up a chunk between my fingers, my stomach quivering inside of my body. I take a bite and swallow – feeling relieved.

Daryl and I eat in silence. We eat slowly, though our hunger is fiendish. We must savor the meat. That's something we both seem to understand. These days, you have to savor any bite of food you get.

Nighttime falls upon the sky again. After putting the fire out, we both laid back on the ground, side by side to look to the treetops and make out as many stars as we can. We're close enough that I can feel the heat from his body radiating towards mine. "When I was young," I begin to say, "And my father was screaming or drinking, I would run into our backyard and lie in the grass. I would stare up at the stars and name them. I would give them life stories and memories. They became my only friends after a while."

"I've always liked the stars," Daryl says and turns his eyes towards me briefly. "Merle said that stars were for pussies, but I didn't care. They sat in the sky, far away from everything going on in the world and I thought that was pretty cool, you know? A ten year old thinks everything is cool."

I laugh a bit, looking to him. "I think I could share some of my friends with you."

His blue eyes watch me for a moment, studying every inch of my face before he nods a little bit, "I'd like that."

I turn my gaze up to the sky again, glancing between the stars to judge whether or not I can remember half of the names and stories I gave to them. I point towards the North Star, glancing to Daryl. "That's Beatrice," I explain, "Beatrice North. When she was alive, she was a housemaid. This was back in the days of slavery. She served a Caucasian family for twenty-six years of her life. They didn't treat her too horribly, but they weren't saints, either. The woman of the house was significantly kinder than her husband. He would come home and purposely find mistakes in her cooking and cleaning so he could take her out back and punish her. They became unofficial lovers. She was growing fond of him and he was only interested in taking her out back."

Daryl looks to me, "What happened to Beatrice?"

"She got pregnant," I explain. "Of course, the woman of the house thought it was to another one of their slaves, but when that baby was born, he came out the color of caramel. There were no other white men on the property, so she knew what had happened – the most rudimentary version of the story, anyway. You know that half-and-half babies were not the greatest of ideas back then."

"What happened next?"

"The woman, Marjorie, took her husband's unofficial love child and drowned him. Beatrice was devastated, yes, but more so vengeful. She got her revenge by killing Marjorie and castrating her husband, Rutherford. She was later lynched because of her crime. I suppose that someone thought she deserved her place in the sky – to be immortalized and watch over all injustices made to women – no matter their race. I bet she'd be proud to know that her stories was one of the many to inspire racial freedom."

"That is a morbid story for a child to make up," Daryl says, shaking head his, but he continues to watch that star. "Why is Beatrice brighter than the others?"

"Because she the sassiest star in the sky," I say and grin at him. "That whole story didn't come to me when I was a child. Bits and pieces came together the more I matured. When it started, all I had was that her name was Beatrice North and she was the snarkiest star in the sky."

"You're a real good story teller," Daryl tells me. "I really liked it."

"I'm glad you did," I say and smile a bit.

I turn on my side, studying the trees before looking to him. He had already been watching me. He begins to move closer to me and I don't resist. I glance to his lips every so often, just waiting for them to meet mine. However, they don't. Before he could get the chance, a loud groaning noise drew him back from me and onto his feet. I scrambled in embarrassment to get onto my feet as well.

"What was that?" I whisper, holding the gun I had taken from the Winnebago.

"Walker," Daryl answers, taking a few steps forward. "One, judgin' by the sounds, but maybe more."

"Great," I say ever quieter, gripping onto the gun, watching the trees warily. Daryl continues pressing forward.

As I follow him, more slowly than he's walking, I pause at the sound of something off to my right. I slowly move my eyes in that direction, but I see nothing but darkness. I can feel my heart fluttering in my chest. My palms sweat and my legs shake. There is a quiet snarling coming from ahead of me.

I go to take a step back, but cold, flesh-rotting hands grab onto my forearm. The force of its grip causes me to jerk forward, and then stumble backward and fall so that I land on my back. I struggle to pull the knife out of my boot. I had dropped the gun on my way down. The Walker brings my living flesh towards its blackened teeth. The feeling of its fingers around my arm – I know I'm going to bruise. If I live, that is.

I squirm under it, trying to shove it off of me, but it persists past my strength. It leans down, going to pull meat from my neck, but I use my hands to press on its chest, desperately. Everything is a quick, surreal blur.

As I attempt to defend myself against the monster, I recall that I had never used my words to call for Daryl, nor to scream. I open my mouth and suck in air, but my throat is dry. I force myself to let out a scream and I speak Daryl's name through the shrieking. I hear his distanced footsteps running back for me, calling my name into the night, "Rosalie, Rosalie!"

'_I'm going to die_,' my mind says, wanting to accept this fate. '_There's no longer anything I can do at this point. The Walker has ahold of me and I can't fight it. I'm going to be bitten, I'm going to turn and then Daryl is going to shoot me with an arrow between the eyes._'

I close my eyes, but I still try and push on the monster's chest. '_I'm going to die,_' my conscience says again. '_And I need to accept that._'

I can't, however, accept my death without putting up a proper fight. I use a free hand to search through the dirt and grass. I'm looking for something, _anything _beneficial to my survival as this point. I feel wood under my hand and grasp at the object – a stick. "Good enough for me," I mumble and use it to stab through the Walker's throat. I use the stick as leverage to push the undead creature back from me.

Its head begins to slide down the stick and I curse under my breath. I scream again when its mouth knocks into my arm, which I quickly jerk back to avoid being bitten. Just as I'm frantically searching for another object to defend myself with, I see someone moving above the creature and me and a blade nearly stabs into my face as it's shoved through the Walker's head by a living being. There is blood on my face and what's bare of my chest. I breathe erratically as I stare into its dead eyes.

Whoever had stabbed the body rips it back from me and I let out a quick breath of relief. I look up, expecting to see Daryl as my defender, but it's not Daryl – it's _Evan_. I pull myself to my feet at the speed of lightning and I take him desperately into my arms. I feel him return the embrace and I close my eyes for a second or two. I pull back and stare at him. "Where have you been?" I demand, my voice sounding louder than I had intended, "I was worried _sick _about you! Don't run off like that ever, ever again!"

There is a glitter of amusement in my brother's eyes. "I'm glad to see you again, too, Rosalie," he says and chuckles quietly.

I stare at him in disbelief, silent and paralyzed with the shock of his _amusement _with this situation. "What's funny?" I shout. "It's funny for me to have nearly died while looking for you? I don't think that's funny!"

"I missed your yelling," Evan says. "That's all."

"You're _such_ a brat," I say as I pull him in for another hug.

Daryl finally approaches us, panting a little bit, "There were more Walkers. I had to kill 'em off or they'd get to you," he says in reference to me. "Good to see you back man," he says to Evan. "But if you run off and leave me with your sister again, I'm going to have to beat you, myself."

"I'd gladly let you," Evan laughs.

"Leave you with me?" I question with an eyebrow raised. "Am I toxic or something?"

"No," Daryl says, brushing me off. "Just a pain in the ass."

I narrow my eyes at him and he gives me a wink. I look back to my younger brother with a shake of my head. "Where _were _you, Evan? I had no idea if you were okay or not. I thought that – I thought that you could be dead."

"After the fight, I just couldn't think straight. I was reliving so many unwanted memories and I needed to get away. I came into the woods to calm down, but I came across a group of Walkers. They were so close to the group, so I led them away. I think I ended up getting lost somewhere or another," he explains, giving me a sheepish smile.

"You should've come to tell me so we could send someone looking for you given this happened."

"I know," Evan sighs. "I'm sorry I disappeared. It wasn't my intention to, but that's what happened. I'm sorry, okay? Please, don't be angry with me."

"I'm not angry with you," I mutter. "I was worried about you."

"I'm okay," he says and smiles, then looks to Daryl. "Did you two have a fun time bonding?"

Daryl scoffs and rolls his eyes, "We didn't bond."

My brother looks back to me, raising an eyebrow. "We did," I answer for Daryl. "He's only denying it because it's 'not a very manly thing to do'. I don't understand you boys and your masculinity issues."

The older male walks over and nudges me, shaking his head. "Thanks for sellin' me out."

"You're welcome," I grin at him.

Evan looks between all of us and grins. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and looks down at me, "We should all get back to the camp."

"You're right, we should," I agree and look to Daryl. "Will you be joining us?"

"Sure," he says, "I got quite a bit of squirrels, so I think we're good for the time being. Let's go."

As we walk throughout the forest, the nighttime sticks for a long while. Soon enough, however, the sun begins to peek through the trees and grass. I rub at my eyes in sleep deprivation. I've been awake for two days while searching for my brother. When I told Dale that I wouldn't sleep until I found Evan, I never knew I meant it in a _literal_ sense.

While heading back to the camp under Daryl's direction, we spot a deer in the distance. He tells each of us to walk slowly and quietly by avoiding stepping on objects that would crack. He also tells us to keep our mouths shut. We follow the deer for a good while. We are seemingly invisible as we walk. I study the creature with admiring eyes. Its golden-brown fur shines as it passes under infiltrating beams of sunlight. Its eyes, so innocent, are a deep shade of brown – almost like chocolate. I wish I could approach the animal and pet it, but it would run off and Daryl, as he promised, would shoot me in the buttocks with one of his arrows.

With a few steps more, we accidentally lose the deer to the trees. Daryl picks up his pace to find it and the two of us follow suit. I glance through the trees, feeling as though we're growing closer to camp. My assumptions are validated when I hear voices nearby. Daryl holds onto his crossbow tightly and follows the voices. He steps out of the forest, into an opening. Evan and I stay somewhat behind. I'm relieved to see a few members of our group congregated around. Including Shane. Joy.

"Son of a _bitch!_" Daryl goes off, "That's _my _deer!"

The men from our group mutter and shake their heads at Daryl being the one to come from the forest instead of another Walker – just like the one that had attacked the doe. I feel a loss for her.

I step out of the woods with Evan. Dale sees the two of us and runs to bring us close to his chest, "I'm so glad you're both okay."

"We're fine," I assure.

"You," Dale points at Evan, "Don't you ever run off like that again! You had all of us worried to death! What was going through your head?"

"Relax, Dale," I say. "There was a reason he disappeared and he explained it. He doesn't need to be lectured anymore than he already has."

Evan gives me a relieved expression. "I'm going to go find Everett and Ethan," he says and walks back towards the Winnebago.

I nod and look to Dale, who is staring at me. "He doesn't need to be lectured," I repeat myself, "That's not your job, anyways. It's mine and I've already done what I needed to do."

"I wanted to help," he begins to explain, but I cut him off.

"There's no reason to explain, Dale," I say, giving him a small smile. "I know you wanted to help, and I respect that. I'm _thankful _for that, but you need to give me leeway to parent my siblings, okay? That's all I ask."

The man nods a few times and I nod as well. I turn back to head to the camp as the men and Daryl do so as well. I notice a newcomer in our group and glance around – there are more of us than there were before. I spot Eduard Morales, who is hugging his wife and children. I see Andrea Barr, who is reuniting with her younger sister, Amy. I see T-Dog Douglas, who stands off to the side, watching Daryl and the newcomer. I see… _Glenn_.

I run over to the Korean man standing off to the side and I throw my arms around him. "Holy shit, Glenn, I was so worried!"

He returns my embrace, hugging me a little bit tighter than I was hugging him. "I know," he says, "We tried to use the radio a couple of more times, but it didn't work. The Walkers were starting to overtake the store and we had to get out of there. We met Rick along the way. He used to be a cop somewhere in Georgia," he explains and gestures to the unfamiliar face. "Some bad things happened in Atlanta, Lee."

"What do you mean?" I ask, beginning to look through the members of the group that had traveled to Atlanta. "Did you lose someone? Did they get someone?"

"Not exactly," he says quietly. "We lost Merle, but it wasn't to Walkers. He was out of control. Rick had attracted most of the Walkers from trying to defend himself in the street and Merle was going insane. He was shooting them down from the roof and he beat the living crap out of T-Dog. He wanted us to vote and make him leader of the operation, but Rick handcuffed him to a pipe."

"To a _pipe_?" I ask incredulously.

"He _had _to," Glenn says. "Merle was out of control. He very well could have killed all of us if Rick hadn't done what he did. It was a necessary precaution that had to be taken. You understand, right?"

"How was he left behind?"

"Everything was rushed as we were leaving. The group in the store – they _had _to hurry before the Walkers broke through the glass. They were so close to doing it, too, so Rick had everyone go quickly. T-Dog was heading up to the roof to unlock Merle from the handcuffs, but… I guess he dropped the key."

"He's still _there_? He's still handcuffed to a freaking _pipe_?"

"Yeah," he whispers.

"This situation is really bad," I mutter to myself rather than Glenn. "When Rick tells Daryl, this isn't going to go over well with him. You all realize that, right?"

"We do, Rick doesn't."

I look over to see Rick and Daryl talking. I jog towards them just as Daryl tosses the squirrels and draws a knife on the new member of the group. "_You handcuffed my brother to a roof and just _left _him there_?" he screams.

When the ex-officer goes to explain himself, Daryl lunges with the knife and attempts to attack Rick, but Shane quickly intervenes and places Daryl into a chokehold. I go over and shove Shane back from him, helping the other stand. "Excessive force made my police was once a criminal offense," I say to Shane, who steps back and shakes his head.

I touch Daryl's arm in an attempt to console him, but he shoves me back, "Don't touch me!" he screams and shoves me back for the second time when I try again. "I said _don't touch me_, you stupid bitch! I don't even like you! I didn't care if your brother _or _you had died in that forest!"

I feel his words, sharp on my face. I close my eyes, turn, swallow the lump in my throat and walk away.

I go to Ethan, who still has the pet frog he showed me the other day. I pull him into my lap and kiss his head. "How are you, baby?" I ask him, looking to his open palm, "How's Stanley?"

"I think Stanley's thirsty," Ethan replies with a voice of pure innocence. "He needs more water his ter-tertera-ter…"

"Terrarium?" I finish.

"Yeah!" he beams, "In his ternarium!"

I smile at Ethan's inability to pronounce certain words. I head inside, grab one of my leftover water bottles and I pour it into Stanley's pool. "There," I say and smile at him, "All better now, isn't he?"

The young boy nods his head a few times and grins, setting the frog back into its cage and it leaps to rest in the pool of water. I look back over to Daryl, Rick and Shane to see Lori standing over there as well – talking to the newbie. I furrow my eyebrows before connecting the dots.

I walk over, glancing between them, but I avoid Daryl's eye contact. "What's going on over here?" I ask.

"Rick wants to lead Daryl, Glenn and T-Dog back into Atlanta just to find Merle," Lori says to me, then looks to Rick. "Carl and I _just _found you again and you want to run off already?"

"That's not what this is about," Rick replies, his voice accented with Southern upbringing. "This is about doing right by a man I wronged. Only, this time, I've wronged both of the Dixon's. This is something that I need to do, Lori. Besides, I left something of mine behind."

"If this is about that stupid hat…"

"It's not about the hat," Rick says, giving her a pointed look. "Not in the slightest. Back at home; I cleaned out the cage at the police station. When Walkers overran me, I dropped the bag of guns. We _need _those guns."

"This is a suicide mission," Shane says and places his hands on his hips. "What happens if you take three of our valuable men and a group of Walkers come trudging through here? We're not going to have the manpower to keep them at bay."

"You're going to need more guns to manage to survive," his former police partner says. "You need those guns – _we _need those guns, Shane."

"Fine," he says and walks a way with an irritated rub to his head.

Lori looks back to Rick, shaking her head. "What if you don't come back?" she asks, "I can't lose you again and _Carl _can't lose you again."

"I'm coming back," Rick tells his wife, "I promise."

The woman shakes her head several times and walks away. I'm left standing alone with the man since Daryl had left halfway through the conversation. "Do you think this is foolish?" he asks.

"No," I tell him. "I don't. Given, I may not think Merle Dixon is worth saving or worth causing a potential chance of death for you all, but I don't think this is foolish. This is something you need to do, and I see that. Every man has his conquests to complete before he can say he's lived a whole life."

Rick nods a few times, "Thank you. What's your name?"

"Rosalie Sinclair," I answer, offering my hand to him.

"Rick Grimes," he replies with a shake of my arm.


	5. Chapter Five

We had all watched as the large box-truck left to head into Atlanta, Georgia on a suicide mission for the life of Merle Dixon. While I do agree that their actions were inhumane, I also believe that one life is far too hazardous to save. The world, with the condition in which it currently rests, is far too dangerous to go on a rescue mission to retrieve a reckless, mercilessly cruel, conservative man from the south. As the truck drove away, I had to wonder how Merle and Daryl Dixon came to be so different. The question may never be answered.

Now, sitting around the quarry with the rest of the women, I find myself staring at my reflection in the rippling water. The sound of cloth material rubbing against the nearby washboard deafens my ears. We women are huddled near the water, doing the laundry of every single capable person in our camp. It has become our appointed job to tend to the others while they bathe in the sun with a gun in hand. I can hardly remember the last time an actual threat passed our way. One Walker devouring a deer does not qualify in the slightest.

I toss the clothes back into the soapy water bucket between my legs. I've had enough washing for one millennium. "I think it ridiculous that we have to wash their clothes," I say. The other women look at me, but they're quiet for now. "If anything, we should all pull our own weight. We should tend for ourselves, this shouldn't be a dictatorship in which women are forced to wash and feed the men. The world may have ended, but it's _still _the twenty-first century."

"What would you rather be doing?" Jacqui Sacks asks, folding one of T-Dog's old shirts. "In this camp, we've only got so many choices and that consists of cooking or cleaning."

"I'd rather be defending the camp," I admit.

"So would I," Andrea Barr cuts it, "But they're not going to let that happen. It doesn't matter if you're experienced with a gun or you're a _badass _gunman. You're still a woman and I'm still a woman. We got stuck with all of the assholes in rural Georgia."

"What does rural Georgia have to do with anything?" Amy asks, looking to her elder sister. "Does is make a difference or something."

"People in Georgia who are loser to the northern part of the country tend to be a bit more liberal – open-minded. Those closer to the southern part of the country are, more often than not, extremely conservative and traditional – close-minded."

"I still don't understand what you mean," Amy says sheepishly.

"People in the south lean more towards tradition, meaning anti-gay rights, anti-women rights. They're all for the white male supremacy," I explain to her.

"Oh," she says curtly.

"Didn't you ever pay attention in history class?" Andrea asks, giving her sister a cocked eyebrow.

Amy shrugs. "Texting was more important."

Andrea, Jacqui and I share a laugh. Carol remains eerily silent, but we're all aware that it's because her abusive husband so near. He watches her – hovers over her to make sure he still has absolute control.

"I would love to be defending our camp just as much as you would, Rosalie," Andrea says to me, "But with Shane as our leader, I'm not entirely sure that would ever be an option."

"Especially not on my end," I roll my eyes.

"Why not you?" Jacqui asks.

"I'm too much of a threat to him, I think. I constantly challenge his dominance, which drives him insane, I know that," I shrug once. "I make him too angry for him to put me in a position of even the slightest amount of power. There will always be something I can say or do that will push him a little closer to the boundary of insanity."

"Maybe you should stop doing that," Andrea suggests. "Shane isn't a bad guy. Maybe he's just on a bad path."

"Well," I say quickly, "I hope Rick takes his place as our 'leader' since we so _desperately_ need one. I think people have forgotten how to govern themselves."

"You what Rick to be the leader?" she asks, giving him an incredulous look, "Why?"

"I have a feeling about him," I say simply. "Something tells me that he would make for a decent leader. I stand by what I said."

Andrea shrugs at me, not wanting to say anything further. I can tell that she disagrees with me. She would rather Shane remain as the leader and I have to wonder if every female in this godforsaken camp lust after Shane. I feel as though I may the only one with my sanity intact.

"I miss how life used to be," Amy says, letting out a bit of a dramatic sigh. "I don't want to go through all of this 'dead-rise-to-eat-the-living' crap. Those are things we see in movies, not in real life. I don't understand how this could happen."

"None of us do," the other says in an attempt to soothe her younger sister. "None of us know why this is happening, but you need to remember that this isn't a movie – this _is _real life."

"That's the part I don't want to think about."

"I miss the world, too," Jacqui says. "My coffeemaker, most of all."

"Texting," Amy pouts.

I watch them in silence. Andrea next points out that she misses her vibrator (which is far more any information than any of us really needed to know) and then Carol speaks for the first time in the day.

"I miss my vibrator," Andrea had said.

There was a moment of silence before Carol says, "Me too."

Despite my lack of interest with the conversation, this causes all of us – including myself – to roar with laughter. The thought of the mousy Carol Peletier screaming for a vibrator is enough make anyone wail with amusement. This, however, is less than amusing to her husband, Ed.

"What's so funny?" he asks with a cigarette hanging from his fingers.

"Just swapping horror stories, Ed," Andrea says.

Ed Peletier ignores Andrea and redirects his attention to his wife. "Why don't you just shut up and focus on your work, hm?"

"I think you're being unnecessarily harsh, Ed," Andrea says and looks to him. "We're just having a little bit of fun, you know. There is absolutely no crime in that."

"You can g'on and mind your own business. I wasn't talkin' to you," Ed replies and glares at Andrea. "I was having a discussion with my _wife_. No, if you excuse me, I'm gonna continue the conversation that you have no part of." Ed uses his hand, gesturing for Carol to come to his side and listen to his instruction. There is a deadly look in his eyes. One of those, 'do-as-I-say-or-die' looks.

"I don't think she needs to go anywhere with you," I cut in and go to stand next to Andrea, staring at the large man before us. My expression reveals no signs of fear, but truth to be told, my bones are shaking. He reminds far too much of my father.

"You ain't about to stick your nose in my marriage, girl," he says, breathing cigarette smoke in my face. "This is ain't none of your business, don't think I'm going to be listenin' to some bitch with a princess complex. Carol. Come. Now."

Carol stands and looks between us with a shake of her head. She wants us to leave the situation alone. When she gets close enough he grabs her upper-arm and makes a small noise of pain. "You're hurting my arm, Ed. Please let go," she says, her voice quiet and timid. It's almost incoherent.

Her husband ignores this and looks between the four of us. "Y'all would be wise to keep your noses in your own business and not in my marriage. I ain't afraid to take down each one of you. I ain't got nothin' fear from none of you's."

"You're not taking her," Andrea cuts in, grabbing Carol and pulling her away from Ed. For a few seconds, Carol Peletier is the rope in a game of tug-of-war between an ex-civil rights lawyer and an abusive husband. There is no true way of telling who will win that game.

"Hell I'm not," he responds, jerking Carol towards him.

"No," she mutters, pulling on her arm. "No, I'm not going with you. I'm staying here – I'll continue to do the washing."

The only word that Ed Peletier hears in Carol's entire sentence is 'no' and that drives him over the edge of pure fury. "You're gonna say no to me?" he shouts, keeping his hand opens and swings it into his wife's mouth. The smack and is loud and echoes throughout the quarry.

"Do not lay your hands on her!" I shout at him, pulling Carol back and I lunge forward to attack him as well. Andrea joins me in the altercation. Jacqui and Amy are the ones to pull the mousy woman from her vicious husband.

Ed takes his swings at the both of us and he doesn't miss, but he doesn't succeed every time, either. Several punches have gone to my jaw, several slaps have gone along my cheek and across my eyes – even some crosses between punches _and _slaps meet my skin. Andrea suffers her own blows as well, but we try to defend ourselves as well as we possibly can.

I drive my elbow in his gut, causing him to hurl forward a little bit, and when he does, I push down on his head with my hands and drive my knee into his face. Before Andrea and I can take any more hits, we're shoved out of the way. The only different is that Andrea stumbled and my hair was gripped and I was ripped back, to fall on my hands and knees in the sharp rocks. When I furiously look up to confront the culprit, I see Shane Walsh dragging Ed away.

"What are you doing?" Andrea calls after him.

However, her question is ignored and he throws the overweight man on the ground and leans over him, beginning to throw hard punches to his face and he does not stop. At this point, we're all screaming for him to stop. At this rate, he could very well kill Ed, and as much as we would all love for that to happen; Carol may not be as thankful.

"Stop it!" Carol cries from Jacqui's arms, trying to run forward to comfort her husband, but we all do what we can to keep her away from Shane. "Stop it, you're hurting him!"

The officer does stop now, but he grips onto Ed's cheek and pulls his head close, causing his mouth to scrunch. "You put your hands on your wife or your little girl again and I will not stop next time, do you understand me?"

Ed, instead of responding, makes quivering noises of fear and Shane accepts that as a proper answer. He throws him back and stands up, walking back towards the camp. We all stare after him, except Carol; who rips away from Jacqui and runs to comfort and apologize to her husband. The way he has her wrapped around his fat finger is almost sickening.

"Gather the clothes," I tell the others. "They're done, anyway. We should just head back to the camp," I say. I try to keep my composure as I speak and it works surprisingly well.

I feel adrenaline darting through my veins. Watching Shane attack Ed Peletier has made me excited – not for the fact that the abusive man was _finally _feeling some of his own revenge, but because of the fact that Shane had the audacity something I always wish I could have done to my own father. If he were here now and provoked me, I would.

I help the women back to the camp with the laundry while some of the men head down to help Ed back into his and Carol's tent. I search through the crowd of faces, wanting to find my brothers. To my surprise, they're all sitting together. I walk over to join them and sit across from the three of them. Ethan promptly crawls into my lap.

"You look freaked," Everett points out, nudging his elder brother a few times. "Evan, look at Rosalie. She looks so freaked out!"

"I see it," Evan responds and shakes his head at his brother. "Are you alright, Rosalie?"

"I'm fine," I say, looking down to Ethan, who is staring up at me with his innocent blue eyes.

"Are you sure you're okay, Rosie?" he asks and his high-pitched little voice makes me melt. I have an unconditional love for this boy.

"I'm sure," I say and nod, kissing the top of his head. "Soon, though, I want to have a discussion about Daddy." I look up and the two of my brothers who understand what I mean are giving me a look of utter terror.

"Daddy?" Ethan asks and he's silent for a long moment. He has to think about who he is. It has been a long while since we last saw him and the boy is too young to really retain much information.

"Remember the truck?" I ask.

"Oh," Ethan grimaces, "_That _Daddy."

"Do you have more than one?" I ask and furrow my eyebrows.

The boy looks taken aback by the question and he deliberately avoids my eye contact. I was as he tugs nervously at his shirt. It's fairly obvious that, if given the choice, he will choose to never address that question again.

"Ethan," I say and grab his attention. "Do you think you have more than one Daddy?"

"Well…" Ethan begins, chewing on his lip nervously. "I only have one Daddy, Rosie."

I look to Evan, who is pressing his lips together unhappily, but he's silent about the matter. "Yes, you only have one Daddy," I tell him and run my hand along his hair. "Daddy from the truck, when the world changed. He's who you mean, right?"

The boy was still and silent for a long moment before shaking his head a few times, "No, Rosie. That's not who I mean."

"Who do you mean?"

Ethan, again, shrugs.

"Who is it, Ethan?" Evan asks, sounding much less calm than I do. "Spit it out, we need to know. Whoever else you think your father is, you're wrong. Our father died. In the truck."

"My Daddy didn't die!" Ethan exclaims, throwing his arms around my torso. "Stop it, Evan!"

"He did," the elder one retaliates. "The car truck ran off the road and flipped down the hill. Remember, Ethan? Remember how the truck landed on him?"

"Evan!" I snap at him, giving him a stare of death when the young child begins to cry. "That is _enough_. He's already confused, _you _don't need to make it _worse_."

"You can't living in denial," Evan says, standing up and he shakes his head. "You're not going to let him grow up believing some random prick is his father – I won't let you. We _had _parents, Rosalie. We had parents and _you weren't one of them_."

"I'm doing what I have to, Evan." I reply, glaring at him. "Quit acting like I'm the antichrist when I'm just doing my _job_. Ethan needs someone to take care of him and, of course, it's going to be _me_. You need to stop being so angry with me. It's not healthy for any of us."

"You can't pretend to be his mother while he thinks a racist hillbilly is his father. Rosalie, you can't, and I'm not going to let that poor boy grow up without knowing who his real parents are."

"_Racist hillbilly_?" I ask, incredulously. "Whom are you talking about, exactly?

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," he says and stands up, walking away from Everett, Ethan and myself. Everett runs a shaking hand through his hair and looks up to him.

"Are you going to chew me out, too?" I ask.

"No," Everett responds. "I know you're doing what you have to do. Evan does, too, but he can't seem to accept the fact that Mom and Dad are gone. Even if Mom died way before she had to see any of this crap. It's like he's going to continue to hold on and they're magically going to appear someday, but we all know better, because they're not. Ethan believing you're his mother isn't a crime. You'd be a good one."

I give him a soft smile after he's finished with his spiel. I place a kiss on his cheek and pat his back. "You're going up so quickly."

"I don't have a choice," he mumbles. "We all have to grow up."

"We do," I nod in agreement. "You're turning into a fine, young man, Everett. I'm proud of you."

"Do you think Mom would be, too?"

"Yes, I do."

Everett gives me a humble, half-smile and nods. "I'm going to help the others with dinner."

I watch him go and take a slow breath inwards before looking down to Ethan, whose eyes are still swollen and bloodshot from his brief episode of crying. "Who's your Daddy, Ethan? Is he here?"

The boy, sniffling and wiping at his running nose, shakes his head a few times. "Daddy isn't here right now."

"Where did he go?"

"In a truck."

"In a truck to where?"

"Atlanta."

A sense of worry begins to well in my chest and I look down at him, gently touching his cheek with my thumb. "I know you don't want to tell me because you think I'll be mad, or you're going to be embarrassed, but I really need to know, peanut. I need to know who you think your Daddy is, okay? It's really, really important."

Ethan lets out a sigh of defeat, "Mr. Daryl," he says. "Mr. Daryl is my Daddy. Isn't he?"

I open my mouth to speak, though I have no plans of what the hell I'm going to say, and as I'm about to tell him that Daryl isn't his father, nor could he ever be; Evan calls my name. "I'll have to get back to you," I say to Ethan and carry him over to Dale, who willingly opens his arms for the boy.

"Grandpa Dale!" Ethan exclaims and hugs his neck when the man has a good hold on him. I watch, grinning, before moving to where Evan summoned me. I give him an expectant look.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"We've been saying that a lot lately."

"I know," Evan says and sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I try not to get as angry as I have been, but sometimes, I can't help it. I loved Mom and Dad, you know? I hate thinking about Ethan growing up without knowing about either of them."

"You act like I'm never going to tell him, Evan. That's not the situation. Someday, yes, I will tell him, but he's _too young_ right now and I don't know how you don't see that. I loved Mom, I did, but I did _not _love Dad. I hated that man, Evan. He was an abusive alcoholic who cared about the goddamn television than his own children. Frankly, I'm glad he's out of our lives."

"Ethan should still know him."

"No," I say. "Ethan is going to know _Mom_, but he is not going to know that monstrosity we called our _father_."

I can see the patience wearing down in eyes, but he continues to maintain his composure. "I don't think you should be making all of these decisions on your own. We all need to have a say in how he's going to be raised."

"Do you want to take a vote?" I ask, putting my hands on my hip. "I vote Ethan doesn't know our 'father' and I'm sure Everett will vote that way as well, because he didn't like him either."

I get a blank look in return.

"I agree that we all need to have a say in how Ethan is raised," I tell him. "I do, but this decisions has already been made. He has to grow up knowing nothing but a vicious world, he doesn't need to know about the vicious people who existed before all of this."

Evan nods exactly three times, putting his hands up and walks away, "Fine."

I drag my hands down my face in frustration. The lack of communication between my family and I is utterly ridiculous and wearing on my patience. I decide to let my brother be on his own, however, for the fact that I know nothing will be properly discussed when he's angry. I turn and walk back to Dale, who is still holding Ethan. I bring the young boys into my arms and rest him on my hip. "What would you like to do, sweetheart?"

"I wanna go play with Carl and Sophia!" Ethan exclaims and wriggles around in my arms. I let him down and he totters off to the join the older of the children. They are not unwelcoming.

I watch them with a small smile on my face before letting out a small sigh. I could never imagine being an innocent child having to watch the world deteriorate around you. What would it be like to watch everything end? Would it make you strong? Brave? Cruel?

* * *

><p>I head towards the small campfire, where Carol and Jacqui are sitting, cooking the fish that Andrea and Amy had caught in the quarry earlier on the day. I take my place amongst them and begin to help with the cleaning and cooking of the slimy creatures. There is an awkward silence between the three of us. It's apparent that we're all hesitant to say the wrong thing around Carol consider her husband was been to a pulp earlier. I wonder if anybody is going to say anything.<p>

"How's Ed doing?" Jacqui asks, giving Carol a sidelong glance.

"He can't see very well," Carol responds, looking to Jacqui, then to me. "His eyes are swollen and yellowed. I worry that he may end up being blind."

"I'm sure Ed is going to be just fine," the other tries to comfort her. "If he was going to go blind, he probably would have by now."

Carol looks to me, as though she's trying to gain my reassurance. I give her a small smile and nod a little bit. "Ed is going to be okay."

"Maybe," she mutters, continuing to delicately rub the fish's scales with a rag.

"I need to check on the laundry," Jacqui says and sets her plate of clean fish down and walks over to the line attached between two trees.

"Rosalie?" Carol calls.

I look to her, nodding a little bit, "Yeah?"

"I'm not sorry," she says.

"What would you have to be sorry for?"

"Ed being hurt. When Shane kept hitting him and _hitting _him, I didn't want him to stop. I wanted him to continuing beating him. I know that's wrong, but I can't help but feel the slightest bit of relief now that he's, for all intents and purposes, disabled. I told him 'no' earlier and he didn't hit me – he didn't go for Sophia. We were fine and that's because of Shane. Someone finally gave him what he has been giving the two of us for years. I'm… Thankful, and that's wrong, I know."

I listen to him, studying her remorseful expression before placing a hand on her shoulder. "I would be just a relief as you are, Carol. Your husband was a vindictive and abusive man and you should feel relieved that he doesn't have the will or audacity to hurt you and your daughter. Honestly, while Shane was hitting Ed, I didn't want him to stop either. It brings a thrill, I think. Not the adrenaline desire to beat someone, but a secondhand sense of standing up for yourself, you know? We've both had abusive people in our lives and we've never known what it was like to stand up for ourselves, and if we did, we surely paid the consequences. Shane was more of an inspiration for us in the future, I think. I don't think I'll ever allow a man control me. Not anymore."

"Who was abusive to you?" she asks.

"My father," I respond, frowning. "He was awful to all of us, but I think he was disappointed in me for being born first. My father was the kind of man who wanted a strong boy for his first child – one to carry on his legacy. It wasn't as though he had a million-dollar company that needed to be carried on. It was more masculinity-related."

"Was he bad to you in particular?"

"Sometimes."

We go silent when Jacqui returns from checking on the laundry. It is shown in her face that suspects we were having an in-depth discussion, but she says nothing in the matter.

We finish preparing the dinner and now we're all gathered in the darkness, around the small, kindling fire. I glance between their faces as they eat their fish, making noises of approval. I'm glad that the Barr sisters were able to gather enough fish to provide for the group with seconds as well.

"I haven't had a meal like this in a long time," Eduard says, smiling at his wife, Miranda. "It's nice, no?"

"Very nice," Miranda says, smiling at Andrea and Amy. "Thank you both."

"We shouldn't be the only ones you thank," Amy says. "Rosalie, Jacqui and Carol cleaned and cooked the fish."

"Thank all of you," Miranda says, looking between our faces.

I smile and give her a short nod, taking a few more bites of my fish – which is something I've never been to fond of, but you these, you get what you get and you don't throw a fit. I'm glad to have food in my stomach.

Ethan pokes at the fish several times before managing to pry some of the meat from its bones. When he does, he gives a triumphant smile at the fork and takes the meat into his mouth and chews on it for several minutes until he decides he's ready to swallow. This time, he tugs on my shirt and I look down to him. "Rosie, I love eating fishes," he says.

"Fish," I say and smile at him. "Fish is already plural."

I get a confused look in return before he looks contemplatively down at the fish. "Rosie, I love eating fish," he says and looks to me for confirmation. I nod and he beams.

I shift my eyes to Evan, who was been silent throughout the entire dinner, which I know is my own doing. He's still furious with me. Everett sits awkwardly between us, poking at the fish with his fork. "This is such an awkward situation," he mutters to me.

I nod a few times in response and press my lips into a thin line. I look up as the group begins to talk amongst themselves. Much of the conversation consists of reminiscing and curiosity about Dale's watch. I have more sense to listen than to share. One can only wonder what would happen if I began to talk. There is always a large chance I wouldn't stop and every secret I intend to _keep _a secret will be divulged. It seems to be too great of a risk. So I observe.

"When Amy was a toddler, she absolutely hated clothing," Andrea begins and gives her sister a smug smile. "It didn't matter what time of day it was, where we were – if she wanted her clothes off, she would rip them off. Then our father would have to chase her around for hours. The one time, Amy ripped her clothes off in the store; every last article – butterfly undies and all. Dad was livid. He chased her through all of the food aisles, ignoring the gasps of shock and disgust before he caught her hiding in the 'Frozen Foods' section. When we finally managed to come back home, Dad wanted to spank her silly, but he couldn't. He sat in the kitchen, thinking about what had just happened. I swear, he was laughing for the rest of the night."

Amy, who had looked furious with her elder sister beforehand, now holds a calm expression. "I don't remember that," she says.

"You were about three or four," Andrea replies.

"You're lucky I don't have many stories about you," the younger tells her. "If I did, I'd be telling everybody here every single thing you've ever done."

I look over and watch as Dale studies his watch and checks with the sky to judge whether or not the device is at least somewhat accurate. Overall, he seems relatively pleased with the outcome.

"Rosalie?"

The voice brings me out of my observant state. I look Andrea, who is staring at me, but the rest of the group is, as well. I feel uncomfortable by their gazes and glance around, obviously clueless, "Yeah?"

"Do you have any stories to share?" she asks, glancing between the four of us. "I only ask because none of you have ever had a tale to tell when dinner calls for reminiscing."

"I suppose that none of my tales should be said at dinner and in front of children, nonetheless."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I tell her. "That's why I don't share anything. It was my private life, and it may be gone, but I'm keeping every dark thing I've ever experienced to myself."

Dale looks to me, frowning, "It may help to talk about."

"It won't change."

"I'll talk," Evan suddenly pipes up, throwing his plate down. I give him a venomous glare. I suddenly feel the urge to fling myself across Everett just to attack him.

"Don't you _dare_, Evan."

"Why not?" he asks, turning his cold eyes towards me. "Dad's dead, right? Why not talk about the prick?"

Knowing I'm powerless against his rage, I look away and shake my head several times. Just as Evan opens his mouth to speak, a bloodcurdling scream comes from the Winnebago. Half of us shoot up from our seats and the other half smile look over. We see Amy being bitten by a Walker.

Andrea flings herself from her seat, trying to run towards her sister, but it's far too late. By now, another one of the undead has shoved her head to the side and taken a large bite from her neck. The girl lets out hollers of pain and tries to force the creature back. Jim Hall takes a baseball bat to the side of its head. The rest of the camp is thrown into frenzy.

We're all running back and forth at this point, grabbing weapons, attempting to kill off the large group of Walkers that have infiltrated what we were beginning to call "home".

I flee to the Winnebago, not for my own safety, but for Ethan's. I hide him in a cabinet under the sink and use a twist-tie to make sure it's going to stay shut. For further reinforcement, I push a chair in front of it. I stand, seeing a gun on the table and grab it. I run back outside, calling for my brothers. Everett comes jogging over to me, holding an ax in-hand.

"Where is Evan?" I ask him, speaking too quickly for my brain to ever comprehend my words. "Everett, where is Evan?!"

"I-I don't know," my brother stammers. "I saw him with Carol and Sophia – I think he was defending them."

"Go to the Winnebago to stay safe," I tell him, but he lingers. "Go," I demand and he jogs inside, closing the door in order to make sure no Walkers are able to get inside.

I jog forward; avoiding Walkers as well as I possibly can as I search for Evan. At this current moment, I really wish I knew how to use a gun.

My skin is sweating, my heart is racing and my breathing is accelerated. I call out to Evan several times, but I get no response. I feel my heart dropping into my stomach. '_He's dead,_' my brain tells me. '_There's no way he's alive without responding. He may be mad at you, but this is unlike him, Rosalie. Evan is gone._'

The mere thought brings tears to my eyes. When a Walker attempts to lunge at me, I turn the gun up, pull on the trigger and an ear-ringing shot comes out of the weapon. I watch the creature fall before my eyes, to the ground with a bleeding wound in his head. "I did it," I mutter to myself, "I killed a Walker."

"Yeah, congratulations," a voice tells me. I turn to see Daryl shooting arrows at the Walkers surrounding me. "You kill one Walker and you're gonna kill yourself killed anyway because you're not payin' any attention."

"I didn't miss you," I growl at him, turning the gun up to continue shooting the undead. Truth to be told, when the Walkers aren't in close range, I'm a _horrible _shot.

"I definitely didn't miss savin' your ass," Daryl responds and takes down several more Walkers in a series of two minutes.

'_How does he do that?_'

* * *

><p>After a while, the camp seems to calm down. Our grounds are riddled with the bodies of Walkers, but also with the bodies of our own group members. I immediately begin to search through all of time, trying to find Evan, but none of them show his face. I look around, feeling a sense of doom in the pit of my stomach and begin to travel around the perimeter of the camp.<p>

I walk through the woods, but only in the shallow end, calling out for my brother every so often. There is no response, but I see something in the distance. I begin to walk forward, squinting my eyes through the darkness. "Evan?" I ask the figure.

It does not respond, but when I walk closer, I see him standing over the body of a Walker, breathing hard – looking horrified. "Evan," I say to him and he looks up to me. When hold a gaze and I notice his eyes widen. "What is it?" I ask.

He goes to raise his hand and calls out to me, beginning to jog forward. I am confused until I hear a snarling behind me. I slowly turn to see a Walker. I jerk back and it slams itself into me. I feel myself slipping off of some sort of edge. We begin rolling, we are falling down the side of the mountain.

The last things I see are bloody, rotting teeth. My head slams into the ground. The world goes black.


End file.
